the tay bridge disaster

William Topaz McGonagall (1825–September 29, 1902) was a weaver, actor, and poet. He is renowned as one of the worst poets in the English language. Born in Edinburgh, of Irish parentage, he was working as handloom weaver in Dundee, Scotland when an event occurred that was to change his life. As he was later to write: "The most startling incident in my life was the time I discovered myself to be a poet, which was in the year 1877. " It was with this that he wrote his first poem An Address to the Rev. George Gilfillan, which showed all the hallmarks that would characterise his later work. Source: Wikipedia

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Read the poem below and then do a comprehension activity. When you have finished, do some writing yourself, read some selected disaster poems, and read some users' poems.

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The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

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Your turn

Have you ever experienced any kind of natural disaster? If not, imagine what it would be like. Write a poem about your real or imagined experience. Send it to us.

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Other selected disaster poems

Destruction of Sennacherib, The (Lord Byron)
Famine, The (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Life (Emily Dickinson)
Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 (Wordsworth)
Patroling Barnegat (Walt Whitman)
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, The (Gordon Lightfoot)
Wreck of the Hesperus, The (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Readers' poems

Bitterroot Valley Fire
by Anne Wilson
(reprintd from MOBIUS 2002, with the author's permission)

In Bitterroot Valley, Montana
she saw the firestorm
throwing two-hundred-foot high flames
into the air, as it savaged
one mile of forest per hour (or so
the reporters told her).
She could see the glow fifty miles away
and then on the TV news
in a rented motel room.

Later, when they let residents back
to assess the damage, she remembered
the chimney standing erect
in the blackened field,
the broken glass slivers of her life
melted and blackened,
the only remaining evidence this chimney
like a shrine to whatever hearth-gods
or demons had inspired it

--cremated remains of a lifetime of investments
and borrowed dreams, blowing carelessly
across the charred landscape.

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After the Deluge
by Maggie Borum

A walk in the garden
Right after the storm --
The air is much clearer
When the deluge moves on

Yes the deluge is over
But the damage remains
When rage is discharged
And can't be contained

Feelings accrue --
The levee gives way --
Again and again,
But what can I say?

It's one of the worst mistakes
Man or Nature makes:
Reason returns, but by
Then it's too late

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